The Saga Reborn - Sparks that Set the Future Alight
by StormEyeDragon
Summary: As the Clone Wars rage across the Galaxy, the Praumia system prepares to assert itself as a fully independent system. But what will its citizens do when the Clone Wars come to a rather unexpected end?
1. On the Eve of Battle

20 Years Before the Battle of Yavin - The Clone Wars rage…

Outer Rim

* * *

The warm blue tunnel of hyperspace illuminated sixteen Munificent-class frigates as they shot towards their destination as fast as their Class 1 hyperdrives allowed. The drives in question shuddered at times; the effort required to allow a 825 meter ship to move across the cosmos at that speed was substantial. For while the hyperdrives in the Munificents were Class 1 on paper, they were still lower in quality than the military grade Class 1 drives installed installed in the Venator-class Star destroyers. This was the case for much of the Separatist fleet. While substantially larger than the Republic's fleet, the majority of Separatist vessels were nothing more than commercial vessels with upgraded shields and weapons. Only about ten percent of their navy consisted of the Recusant-class or Providence-class war vessels. The rest was mostly upgraded Munificent trading frigates and militarized Trade Federation ships.

Commodore Obarrel considered this as she stood atop the bridge of her command vessel, the _Iron Thunder_. Her dark eyes took in readings from the tactical screens in front of her. Her entire flight consisted of 4 sections, each with four Munificents, and all of these fed real-time data about the progress of the war. The news had not been very good for the last several months. The corrupt Republic was pushing ever farther into the Outer Rim territories, slowly strangling the Separatist effort to forge a separate economy by seizing resource-rich worlds. One such world, Elom, was the site of large Lommite deposits, which was used to make transparisteel. The Republic had recently seized control of the system, prompting the Separatist Senate on Raxus to petition the military to free the system from Republic tyranny once again.

Obarrel sighed, and looked out the transparisteel viewport in front of her. What a week. She had no sooner finished a successful defense as part of Ord Radama's planetary defense fleet when she received new orders to crush the Republic force at Elom. Joy.

"A hero's work is never done," she muttered, allowing a trace of sarcasm to color her tone. Every victory she won from this point on would allow her to rise in the ranks until she commanded an even larger force, hopefully with at least one battleship. Then she would be able to fulfill her duty to her government and desert, bringing with her a fleet that would ensure the safety of her home system. That was the best-case scenario anyway. A grim washed over her face as she sat in her seat on the bridge. As her flight flew ever closer to Elom, she allowed herself to slip into memories of home.

Her home system of Praumia had been settled roughly two standard centuries ago by setters from the nearby Borgath cluster, which had been settled roughly a century prior by humans from several Mid Rim worlds. The majority of the population in the system lived on its capital world of Praumia-2, a once metal-rich planet that consisted of mainly mountains and deserts, with temperate zones at the coasts of the many continents that housed most of the residents.

She and the rest of the Praumian system dreamed of a future free of the government of Borgath, which had so kindly strip-mined much of Praumia-2 to fuel their massive Separatist aligned shipyards. Borgath had seven planets in its own system that were all metal-rich, but its government couldn't bear to tell the tens of millions of its own citizens to move their cities off of metal deposits. That was what the Borgathian Legislature had told the Praumian Government before issuing a warning that all mines on Praumia-2 would be seized by force in 3 standard weeks. 15 standard days. The Borgathian government later thanked Praumia, saying it was for the good of the Separatist cause and they should be proud to be contributing to such a noble effort. It set her teeth on edge. At least her people would get something out of this, she figured. Maybe some of her ships will have been made from the minerals stolen from her people-

"Commodore," a metallic voice snapped her out of her memories. One of the B1 battle droids was facing her. Its yellow markings indicated that it held the rank of commander. "We are nearing the staging point that you set. Please be prepared to-"

"I am aware of my responsibilities, _droid,_ " she cut the droid off. "Just be prepared to open up a commlink to the rest of the flight."

"Roger, roger." The droid walked back to its post. She didn't hear even a hint of the resentment that might have been contained in the response if it had been made by an organic officer. That, she mused, was about the only benefit of these blasted droids. No need to worry about emotion clouding their judgement in most cases. But that hardly outweighed the fact that her droids were barely able to fight effectively beyond highly simplistic tactics. That was why most multi-ship operations were commanded by an organic officer that could adapt to changing battle scenarios. An organic commander like her.

Indeed, Commodore Erinn Obarrel had risen through the ranks of the navy already. Her successes in battle were the reason that a citizen of a "minor backwater" system such as Praumia had such a rank in the star-spanning navy of the Separatists. Perhaps if she won more battles like this one, the higher-ups in the navy would listen to her petitions to bring other officers from the Praumian navy into battle alongside her as Separatist officers.

"Dropping out of hyperspace in 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … now." The droid at the helm eased the flagship into realspace, and the rest of the flight dropped into formation around them. Empty space surrounded them for several dozen light-hours, more than enough for their hyperspace emergence to remain undetected by any conceivable sensors. She walked towards her command chair, her prosthetic leg echoing on the deck as she did so. She sat, and looked towards the communications screen.

"Ready all ships for formation change, and have all ships move into formation on my mark," commanded Obarrel.

The droid at the communications screen gave an acknowledgement. "Roger, roger." She waited until the other ships signaled that they were ready to change formation. One of them had to cycle its generators. She grimaced. The _Gold Talon_ had been having issues with its port reactor for the past week. She really needed to request dry dock access. She waited patiently for the all clear from _Gold_ 's droid captain, tapping her fingers on her cybernetic knee all the while. Eventually, the signal came through, and she gave her orders to the flight. "All ships move to battle formation now."She paused. "Ships in formation with _Gold Talon_ , keep all shields at full." The tactical displays showed the other ships in the flight rotating and moving closer together. She sighed inwardly as proximity alarms blared and the tactical screens flashed red.

"Operations. Turn those blasted alarms off. I thought that we had fixed this issue in the last set of drills." Once again she reflected with no small amount of disdain that any organic officer would have changed the alarms after the first issue during training. She had given orders to the engineering department for them to alter the parameters of the alarms. Obviously they had been sidetracked with repairs.

"Roger, roger," the droid at the operations screen manually shut off the proximity alarms, and throughout the flight, other droids did the same. The warnings on her tactical screens slowly faded, allowing her to see that her ships were now fully in formation.

Each section of four ships were now grouped closely together. Each ship was now centered around an imaginary axis situated roughly 20 meters below the "bottom" of each ship, with all four ships being rotated at a right angle from each other. From the front, it appeared as if the ships were aligned with the cardinal directions of a terrestrial compass.

Commodore Obarrel was rather pleased with this formation. It allowed the Munificents to divert energy from their lower shields to all other shields. In addition, it allowed the Munificents to focus the shots from their forward heavy turbolasers in to one single heavy barrage. It had worked quite well for her ships in the past.

"Prepare all ships for the final jump to hyperspace," she ordered. "Just like the other times, run the drives at no faster than Class 10. We don't want the interwoven quantum bubbles to fail after all." Indeed they didn't. With the ships at such close proximity, the quantum bubbles of their hyperdrives interacted quite strongly at the fast speeds of the lower Classes. Using the snail's pace of Class 10 had the effect of ensuring that the ships made stable jumps through hyperspace. It also had the added benefit of making the jumps more accurate. She personally loved that.

"Roger, roger," the communications droid relayed her orders. One by one, the indicators on her tactical screen turned green, indicating that the ship had the new jump coordinates locked.

Commodore Obarrel steeled herself. This would be a very brief jump, barely longer than five minutes at Class 10 speeds. It would likely be straight into battle with at least one Venator-class if the information that she had was still up-to-date. No matter. She had faced single Venators before, even a pair of them once. She would come out on top, just as she always had.

"Jump now." Her voice held nothing but calm determination.

"Roger, roger."

And with that, the entire squadron blinked into the blue tunnel of hyperspace. The tactical readout showed slight stress on the hyperdrive, but not much more than a prolonged trip at high speeds would create. But still, that was the reason that she only used this formation when she could prepare a very short distance from the enemy.

She counted down the minutes, barely listening as the pilot counted down the final few seconds of hyperspace travel. The ships dropped out of hyperspace, and five icons popped up her tactical display.

A Venator-class Star Destroyer. That was a given.

One small Arquitens-class command cruiser. Easy.

Three Acclamator-class assault ships. Workable.

She allowed a grin to spread across her face. This would be over quickly. Perhaps she would finally get dry dock time. Or shore leave back home. Both would be rather useful.

Putting those thoughts out of her mind, she prepared to issue orders. It was time to get to work.

* * *

AN: And here begins the first of the plot-based stories for this Saga. Of course, this is one of the short stories, but that's not the point.

If you are curious as to what Commodore Obarrel looks like in full, look up Ryoko Azuma. She look like an older version of her, with a metal leg.

And here's the disclaimer. I do not own anything that is officially part of Star Wars, Legends or Canon. I do not claim ownership of any of the property of Lucasfilm, Disney, or any published authors. I am not making any money from this story.


	2. The Battle of Elom

20 Years Before the Battle of Yavin - The Clone Wars rage…

Outer Rim - Elom System

* * *

"General! We are reading sixteen enemy vessels that just emerged from hyperspace." The clone officer's voice was tense. "They, they emerged at the edge of the hyperlimit, General."

"I see them. Order all fighters in the squadron to launch as soon as they can fly. What's the status of the ships planetside?" Jedi Knight Dunsem Tudd stood calmly, staring out the transparisteel viewport of the Venator he commanded.

The clone in charge of comms read the latest report, then flinched. "Not good, General. They're still offloading troops and taking on the transparisteel shipments that the mission requires us to collect. They won't be ready to launch for at least ten minutes."

Tudd frowned. "Tell them that they need to double their efforts. Leave the shipments. We need those ships at our side." Indeed they did. Tudd's ships in orbit were still deep enough in the planet's gravity well that they were inside the hyperlimit, meaning that they couldn't just make the jump to hyperspace. And the Separatist ships had emerged nearly right at the hyperlimit.

The Communications officer nodded, then relayed the orders. A moment later, he turned to Tudd, his face showing controlled fear. "They report that their engines are cold, and will take a couple of minutes to fully start, sir."

Tudd's frown deepened. His squadron was trapped. He needed those seven Acclamators in space now. He just hoped that the ships he had now could hold out long enough for them to arrive. 'Not a great chance of that,' he thought. His ships were too spread apart to form a strong formation. This would not go well.

* * *

Commodore Obarrel stared out the transparisteel viewport, noting the positions of her five foes. The Venator was already deploying fighters. Just great. Not that she expected anything less. The officers in charge of the Republic's most powerful vessels were usually competent.

"Right, then." She turned to the droid at the comm panel. "All ships ready weapons and deploy fighter droids in standard amounts. We have a couple of minutes at most before we get in range. Jam their long-range transmissions, but don't waste the energy to try and jam their short-range tight beams. Their short-range comms are too powerful to be jammed with our equipment."

Pausing for a moment to look at the tactical display of the battle, she came to a decision. "Section 2, head for the Venator. Section 1 will join you." Section 1 was the location of the _Iron Thunder_. As much as she hated risking her command vessel to attack the Venator herself, she had her reasons. Separatist High Command loved it when the commanding officer of a force personally dealt with their Republic opponent. The stupidity annoyed her, but she needed that promotion. Anything that made High Command like her more had to be done.

"Section 3, attack the Arquitens-class cruiser, then attack the Acclamators once the Arquitens is destroyed. Section 4, attack the Acclamators." Section 3 held the _Gold Talon_. Hopefully the reactors would not be strained by the easy kills. Arquitens-class were no match for Munificents, especially with fighter backup, and the 4 Munificents of Section 4 would easily match the three Acclamators until Section 3 arrived. The various sections pointed towards each of their ordered foes.

She brought her hands together. Coming to a decision, she once again addressed the fleet. "Section 3, transfer half of your Vulture droids to Sections 1 and 2." She needed an excess of fighters if she wanted to make any headway through the starfighter swarm that was rapidly taking shape around the Venator. She waited for the tactical screen to show the fighters around Sections 1 and 2, watching as the distance between her ships and the enemy shrunk by the second.

The lights on the tactical screen went green, and her mouth drew tight. "We have range. All ships, fire on your targets, attack pattern _Death Blossom._ Section 3, keep fighters in defensive pattern _Shell_." She then brought one hand back to her knee, tapping her fingers on the joint as she kept an eye on the tactical screens.

The starfighters from each Section except 3 formed a spiral around each of their capital ship groups, appearing from the front to be some exotic flower. Then the fighters curved back inwards and either began to fire at the incoming Republic V-19 Torrent starfighters, or began strafing the Acclamators. All the Munificents fired their double heavy turbolasers. This formation disregarded ion cannons in favor of outright firepower; it was meant to end situations quickly.

"Commodore." One of the droids manning the redundant tactical readouts turned to her. "The Arquitens-class has been destroyed." Obarrel grinned, taking her eyes off of her ships on the readout, and turned her gaze on the enemy. As such she missed the red light that began to flash on the screen to her side.

* * *

In the Engineering section of _Gold Talon_ , the droids were slipping into a noticeable state of panic.

"Engineering to Bridge, the port reactor has come online and won't shut down. Please contact the Commodore immediately for instructions!"

"Engineering to Bridge, oh Maker! The port reactor has entered into a feedback loop with the starboard reactor and we can't shut it do-"

And the reactors detonated, turning the _Gold Talon_ into a molten slug of durasteel.

* * *

On the bridge of the Venator _Fortitude_ , Tudd listened to several different officers giving various reports all at once.

"General! The _Evening Sky_ is gone!"

"General, the Acclamators on the surface report that they are taking off, and will reach the battle shortly."

"General, the _Steadfast Falcon, Supernova,_ and _Cloudless Horizon_ are taking heavy fire." The officer flinched, then corrected himself. "The _Steadfast Falcon_ is gone, sir."

"One of the Separatist vessels has been destroyed, General."

"One of the Separatist vessels is hailing us, General."

The officer in charge of Operations aboard the _Fortitude_ interjected. "General, the forward shields are-"

The ship rocked, sending several standing officers to the ground. Tudd lost his footing, but quickly recovered.

Tudd smiled thinly. "Mixed reports then. The shields are still holding?"

The clone stood as well, and nodded. "For now, General. They won't last much longer though, not under a barrage like this." The unstated 'We might not last until the Acclamators arrive' hung in the air like a plague.

Tudd frowned, and turned back to the communications officer. "Are they still jamming our long-range transmissions?"

The communications officer checked a reading on his panel., then turned to Tudd, his face grim. "Yes, General."

Tudd clicked his tongue. "Contact the Acclamators. Tell them to prepare a blockade running formation. If this ship falls, tell them to use it. We have to try and get some word back to the Republic that the Elom system has been lost."

* * *

"Section 3. Status report," Obarrel growled, her right hand clenching into a fist.

" _Gold Talon_ has been destroyed, Commodore." She bit back a curse while the droid continued. "The three remaining ships report minor to moderate hull damage from the explosion, but are capable of continuing to fight."

Obarrel released the breath that she had been holding. That could have been worse. "Order Section 3 to form the triad defense, but moving fighters to defend the undersides of the ships. Keep them on track to attack the Acclamator group." Section 4 had the Acclamators on the ropes. One of them was destroyed, and the other two looked like they would soon follow.

As the droid at Communications relayed her orders to a shaken Section 3, Obarrel watched as Sections 1 and 2 continued their assault on the Venator, which by this point had lost all of its fighters.

"Section 2, move back from the Venator, and cease firing. Section 1, move towards the Venator and hail them. Keep all turbolasers aimed towards the twin bridges, and wait for my command." The Venator noticed that they stopped firing, and did the same. She turned towards the Communications droid. "Are they responding?"

The droid turned its head to face her. "Yes, Commodore. I will activate the channel on your orders."

She grinned. "Good. Put them through." She raised herself out of her chair, a largely pointless gesture given that this ultimatum would be verbal.

"Republic vessels. This is Commodore Errin Obarrel of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Surrender unconditionally and your lives will be spared. Otherwise, all your ships will be crushed beneath my heel." She stomped her metal foot heavily into the deck for effect. "This is your only chance." Her voice was firm, but not harsh.

The voice from the Venator sounded almost incredulous for a moment, but quickly shifted to a more neutral tone. "This is General Dunsem Tudd. I am afraid that I cannot take advantage of your generosity, Commodore. The Republic will never surrender to the Separatists. Goodbye, Commodore." The channel With that, the Venator resumed firing, all the turbolasers firing at different targets. None of them stood a chance of rupturing the shields on the Munificents that way, not with the amount of time that they had left.

"Sections 1 and 2, concentrate all fire on the starboard bridge!" Obarrel's tone betrayed her annoyance. A General. A Jedi, then. She snorted as the eight heavy turbolasers all converged on the Venator's command bridge. Typical Jedi hubris. So few of them surrendered, and their slave army suffered for it.

* * *

"General, the shields are fail-"

The command bridge turned to slag and ash under the combined firepower.

The only thing that survived was a single sapphire-blue kyber crystal, blown towards the planet by the force of the explosion. Once free of the fires and destruction, it fell towards the surface, soon to be lost to the clouds.

* * *

Obarrel watched with satisfaction as the Venator began to fall towards the planet, then hardened her expression. "Target the port bridge." She watched as it, too, turned to a ball of plasma. "Fire one round of ion cannons, target the base of the bridges." She watched as the shots raced towards the dying ship and impacted, scrambling the backup systems that they desperately needed to get the ship back to fighting condition. The Venator stopped firing, and began to fall in earnest, sparks racing across its hull.

She turned to look at the tactical display, and saw that the last Acclamator had been reduced to dust, with Section 4 reporting only minor damage. Section 3 reported almost no further damage. Sections 1 and 2 reported only minor hull damage and some shield strain. The only casualties so far had been a good section of her fighter droids, and the _Gold Talon_. She allowed herself a grin. This was good.

Too good to be true, it turned out. "Commodore, we are detecting several ships approaching from the surface. Seven Acclamator-class vessels, moving in what appears to be a blockade running formation. They will reach us in less than two minutes" She swore she heard a tint of annoyance in the droid's voice. Not that she blamed it, in this instance.

"Sections 1,2, and 4, split into pairs. Section 3, remain in your Triad. All pairs, form a wide ring around Section 3, and prepare to release all firepower on the Acclamators." Firing all of the weapons at once would strain the reactors somewhat after the battle that they had just had, and the ring would dilute her firepower, but she had to keep those Acclamators from escaping. A wide net-like blockade would do that.

The Munificents formed their large ring, each pair spaced at sixty-degree intervals from each other. Not a moment too soon. The Acclamators breached the atmosphere all at once, and accelerated towards the hyperlimit. Obarrel wondered why they hadn't altered their path. Perhaps they had originally been meant as backup for the Venator. That would have explained why the Jedi did not surrender. Whatever the reason, they were here now.

Obarrel observed the approaching vessels. The Acclamators were in a curious formation. Five of them formed a rough cylinder, with one in the center slightly ahead of the rest. The five at the edge were firing all weapons, much like her ships were. They were taking rather heavy blows. Their shields couldn't be far from giving out. So what was their plan? She started, and checked the display. The droid had said seven ships. That formation only had six. Where was the seventh?

She tensed, letting a touch of concern color her tone. "All ships, concentrate fire on the ship in the center, but keep the pressure on the outside ships. Keep scanners active for the seventh ship." She watched as the first ship on the outside of the formation began to falter, then explode. The ship at the front of the formation took its place, absorbing the fire that her ships were pouring into it. It wasn't firing back, she realized.

The ships were rapidly approaching her position. She had to do something. "All ships, launch all remaining fighters and send them to cut off the incoming enemies." She refused to believe that her voice sounded desperate. She began to sweat as the ships grew ever closer to her own, which hung near the edge of the hyperlimit.

Another Acclamator exploded, and she saw what was inside the cylinder. The final Acclamator. She nearly slapped herself. Of course. Not that it mattered now, she thought. Its companions were about to fall. And fall they did. The four remaining shell Acclamators turned to dust nearly in unison, and the final Acclamator soared out of the wreckage like a demon from the underworld, its engines glowing with the signs of overheating. She flinched, knowing what was about to happen.

The Acclamator shot between her ships, and shimmered for the briefest of moments before vanishing, its point-six class hyperdrive carrying it far beyond her reach.

Obarrel grimaced. "Kriff." The ship at the center had probably been carrying a load of valuable ore shipments to be processed by Republic factories. That would not make High Command happy. She paced back to her command chair, and sat down heavily. She turned to the droid at Communications. "Patch me through to High Command. I need to make my report."

While she waited for the highly secured and encrypted channels to be prepared, she considered with some gratitude that at least she wouldn't have to lead the ground assault. She would probably be summoned to meet with a representative of High Command personally once the mining and security ships arrived. She groaned, tipping her had back. What a week.

* * *

 **AN: Here's the next Chapter of Sparks That Set The Future Alight, one of the many stories set in this new Saga. More are coming obviously, see Profile for more information. Only a couple of chapters left. Long and short range comms work differently. Long-range (between star systems) requires hypernode points, while short-range (Ship-to-ship, planet-to-orbit, the like) work with tightly beamed subspace radio, which require different equipment to jam them. These Munificents are designed to stop ships from contacting reinforcements. As for the gravity limiting hyperspace jumps, gravity affects the quantum bubbles that hyperdrives produce, so the bubbles destabilize and fail when the ship moves through a part of hyperspace that corresponds to a big enough gravity well in realspace. I'm giving Rogue One a one-time pass here, but know that if I did remake Rogue One, which I am not, that is probably one of the only scenes I would alter. Also taking liberties with the bridge on Munificents. They have a few more screens than in canon.** I do not own anything that is officially part of Star Wars, Legends or Canon. I do not claim ownership of any of the property of Lucasfilm, Disney, or any published authors. I am not making any money from this story.


	3. Duty and Family

20 Years Before the Battle of Yavin - The Clone Wars rage…

Outer Rim - Praumia System

Planet: Praumia-2, Capital of the system, locally known simply as Praumia

* * *

"...And that concludes my report." Commodore Obarrel managed to hide her nervousness well. The battle had not gone nearly as well as she had planned, but that just how combat went. Now she just had to wait on the judgement of Separatist High Command.

The several holograms that surrounded her talked quietly amongst themselves for several minutes. She took the time to cautiously observe the room in which she stood. The room was dark. There were no windows, and the only light came from a spotlight above her, and from holograms. She stood on a raised platform of polished stone, surrounded by a seamless wooden table on all sides save directly behind her. Probably carved from an Ardygg tree on Praumia-3, she assumed. No tree on Praumia-2 grew large enough to make a seamless table this size. On the opposite side of the table several holograms of various corporate heads and admirals discussed her fate. Directly in front of her, the calculating gaze of Count Dooku seemed to pierce into her very soul.

After a time, the various discussions stopped, and Count Dooku weaved his fingers together, the blue light of his hologram shimmering as he did so. When he spoke, it was directly to Obarrel. "The total damage report is one Munificent-class lost, moderate damage to three others, with little to no damage on the other twelve. All Republic vessels save for one Acclamator-class were destroyed." Dooku paused to take a breath, then continued. "A Jedi Knight was killed, and his Venator-class Star Destroyer reduced to scrap. The surviving Acclamator escaped." He looked over to San Hill, who began speaking.

"While we are not particularly pleased that you lost one of our ships, we do concede that you took precautions to avoid it." The Banking Clan representative leveled a blank stare at her. "We will have to talk to our engineers about the reactors." The Muun nodded at the count, who resumed speaking.

"As you may know, our Parliament wished for the ore and mines to be brought back under our control. They were quick to point out that you did this, despite the losses you accrued." The count smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "As a matter of fact, we have determined that the Acclamator that escaped did not manage to steal any of the ore from the planet. Your tactics appear to have forced them to leave without the shipments." He nodded at her. "That is something that we appreciate." Letting his hands come apart, he gestured to the cyborg Admiral on his left.

Admiral Trench was the next to address Obarrel. "High Command has elected to commend you, Commodore. If your next mission goes well, you may even be looking at a promotion to Admiral. You are dismissed, Commodore. Good day."

Obarrel bowed, crossing her arms and placing her hands on her shoulders. A traditional Praumian gesture of respect. "Thank you, Admiral."

Trench chuckled. "Praumians." His hologram winked out, followed by the other navy representatives.

The Commerce Guild representatives shut off their holograms soon after, leaving Obarrel alone with Count Dooku. The count inclined his head. "I assume that your ships are currently being serviced in orbit as we speak?"

Obarrel hesitated, then nodded. "They are currently undergoing repairs. The lesser damaged ships are currently being serviced here, or are waiting to be serviced."

The count raised an eyebrow. "And the others?"

Obarrel looked him in the eye. "I thought it best that they be serviced in the Borgath system, so I left them in the care of the Borgathian shipyards." She managed to hide her disdain. While they couldn't hold a candle to the system-spanning Kuat Drive Yards, the Borgathians had the largest official set of shipyards in the sector. The shipyards in orbit over Praumia-2 were barely large enough to service something the size of a Munificent-class. Hence why the Confederate Parliament had ordered that the Borgath system be the local staging ground for the Separatist Navy.

The count said nothing for a moment, then stood. "That is acceptable. As there are no matters of importance in the local area, you are now given some time off." The count seemed to smile again. "Breathe some fresh air from home, brag that you killed a Republic warmonger. Enjoy yourself." The hologram shut off abruptly, leaving her alone in the room.

Obarrel released the breath that she had been holding. "Yes, sir," she muttered, a trace of humor coloring her voice.

She stepped off of the raised platform and made her way out of the room. She pulled her comm from her sleeve and activated it. "Former Officer Erinn Obarrel ready to report in. Over."

She didn't have to wait long for a reply. "Of course." The voice on the other end spoke in noticeably accented Basic. "The coordinates will be transmitted to your vehicle. Be there in twenty minutes."

"On my way," Obarrel acknowledged. She left the building, doing her best to ignore the sweltering heat of the desert around her. She made her way to her speeder and followed the newly programmed route to her next destination. The speeder rapidly left the domed stone structure behind as it sped towards the city of Glavni, the capital of Istok.

* * *

"Report, Former Officer Obarrel." The Head Representative of Istok's Council of 30 had a thin face, and her blonde hair was so pale it was nearly white, a close match for her skin.

"Of course, Head Representative Svensen." For Obarrel, the shift from Basic to Praumian was a simple one. During her decades of service in the Praumian Defense Fleet, she had learned to speak Basic in addition to the Praumian system's "native" language. "I am slowly gaining favor with the High Command of the Confederacy. It was hinted that with more successes I may be promoted to Admiral. I was commended, and personally given time off by the Count himself." Obarrel fell silent, waiting on the three gathered officials before her.

The room that she was now in couldn't have been more different than the one she had been in just a short time before. It was brightly lit, with windows that showed the bustling city beyond. The Head Representatives of Praumia's three Councils of 30 sat in padded stone chairs less than two meters from where she stood.

The Head Representative of Nishi said nothing. His tawny-skinned fingers tapped on the arm of his chair, clearly consumed by his own thoughts. Obarrel blinked. She recognized him. Muljadi. He had been a newly elected Representative when she had been ordered to join the Separatist Navy, and now he was already the Head of Nishi's Council of 30. He was barely twenty-five standard years old! Now she was really starting to feel her own fifty-six standard years.

The Head Representative from Nyaraka was silent for a moment, holding a hand to his umber-skinned ear. Listening to the other members of Nyaraka's Council of 30, Obarrel guessed. After a short time, he spoke. "The Nyarakan Council of 30 believes that this is a good sign. Personally, I recommend that you stay on guard. Mentions of a promotion may be nothing more than dangling a sweet-cake in front of your face." He smiled. "Nevertheless. Thank you for the report, Former Officer Obarrel." He faced the two other representatives. "I trust that this is satisfactory? I don't think that I need to remind either of you that we have more pressing matters to attend to."

Svensen's eyes narrowed. "Of course I do not need reminding, Head Representative Kalu." She shifted her gaze back to Obarrel. "We are done here. You may leave."

Obarrel performed the same gesture that she had given to the Separatist High Command, and the three Head Representatives stood so that they could mirror it, if at a slightly shallower angle. She prepared to leave, but motion from Head Representative Muljadi caught her eye. She raised an eyebrow. The other two Head Representatives had already vanished out the door opposite the one she had entered.

Muljadi's face was hard to read. "I wish to thank you for what you are doing for our people." His tone held a note of sincere gratitude and honesty. "Praumia's heart beats for you." Without waiting for a response, he swiftly left the room to join his fellow Head Representatives.

Obarrel allowed herself to smile. At least some people appreciated the work she did for Praumia, unlike the ungrateful daughter that she was about to visit. Her face clouded slightly. Her only daughter may have looked like a near carbon copy of her, but the similarities essentially ended there. She walked out the door that she had entered from, musing to herself as she did so. The remainder of her family liked her well enough. That would suffice. She should call ahead to let them know that she was on her way. It had been a while since she had seen her daughter. Time supposedly healed all wounds, right? How bad could things possibly go?

* * *

Fairly badly, if her son-in-law answering the door was any indication.

"Valek, how have you been?" She kept her voice friendly, although it was hardly necessary. Valek Toghar was a practical man. He figured that being nice to people was just a useful thing to do.

"Pretty good, Mam." He grinned brightly, his beige skin wrinkling. She never figured out where he got that dialect from. She had asked when they first met, but he didn't feel comfortable explaining, so she never asked again. "Why don'cha come on in? Ula's already at the table with the kids." His smile got even wider. "I'm sure Jax will be glad to see ya, even if Ula isn't so keen on ya dropping in."

Obarrel matched his grin. "Well, don't mind if I do then." She crossed the threshold and Valek closed the door behind her. It slid closed with a slight hiss. She made her way to the dining room, noting changes to the holo-pictures on the walls that had happened since she had visited last.

There was a holo-picture of Sera, the second oldest grandchild, standing with her newly won trophy for track. A painting with a label below it declaring that it had been made by Arun, the second youngest. The final holo-picture was of little Miira playing in the desert sand with her shovel. One child was conspicuously absent in the holos. She rolled her eyes. Of course Ula didn't want to have any recent images of Jax. Last she heard, her oldest grandchild had recently entered the first set of pre-military courses at his academy. How on Praumia he had managed to convince his mother to allow him to take them was beyond her.

She rounded the corner into the dining room. The light conversation that had previously permeated the room ground to a halt. Ula barely looked up from where she sat at one end of the long table. "Hello, Mother." Her gray eyes, the same as Obarrel's deceased husband's, gazed impassively at Obarrel for a moment, then shifted downwards. She went back to arranging her meal.

Her grandchildren were far more vibrant, snapping their heads toward her nearly in unison. Their greetings overlapped, but each was distinct enough for her to pick out from the rest.

"Grandmother!" Not quite as cold as her mother, but not too open. That was Sera.

"Hiya, Granmam!" Arun. The boy took after his father.

"Gramama!" There was little Miira. Without a doubt.

"Hey, Grandma!" And that had to be Jax.

Then Arun nudged Sera's foot beneath the table and the previous conversation restarted, if in quieter tones.

Obarrel made her way to the table and pointed at one of the two empty chairs. "Is this one mine?"

Sera answered her. "Yes, but you'll need to serve yourself." She pointed towards the kitchen, deeper in the house. "It's in the big pot."

Valek chose that moment to enter the dining room. "Wait just a short minute there. I thought we raised you kids bet'r than to make guests do work." He sounded more hurt than annoyed.

Ula's response could have frozen Mon Cala. "Any guest that corrupts one of my children with her warmongering ways loses all guest privileges."

The room went dead silent. Obarrel glanced at Jax, who wisely chose to say nothing. She rolled her eyes. "I'm fully capable of serving myself." She started towards the kitchen, then glanced back over her shoulder. "I'd hardly take the credit for his actions. He's fifteen, isn't he?" She began walking again. "Would you rather have him take after you?" She dipped the spoon into the pot, pulled it out, and dropped a helping onto her plate. "He has plenty of time to start on that particular path." She could feel Ula staring daggers into the back of her head, but she chose to continue anyway. "It wouldn't be too hard." She let a dry smile creep onto her face as she made her way back into the dining room. "I mean, really. All he would have to do would be to drop out of the academy at eighteen, marry a rich artisan and make you a grandmother in less than a year-"

Valek started coughing loudly. Or was he choking on his food? Obarrel didn't bother to look. She was too busy staring at the anger-clouded face of her only child.

"Jax will not be like you," Ula ground out. "Once this rebellious phase rolls through, he'll see that taking military classes was a waste of his time. A path that he never should have chosen, one that would have brought him, and his family," her glare at her mother intensified, "nothing but pain."

Obarrel winced. She had definitely gone too far. She sat and began eating without another word. It was probably a good thing that she didn't bring up the Jedi that she had killed recently. Ula would find out anyway, once the news filtered through the Separatist-aligned Holonet channels. Thankfully, the tense atmosphere didn't last.

"Can I go outside now?" Miira pleaded.

Valek looked at his youngest, then at her barely touched plate. With mirth in his eyes, he snapped his gaze back to her hopeful expression. "Should we have made ya mud pies to eat?" He shook his head. "Finish yur food first, then ya can go play in the dirt."

Miira pouted but resumed poking at her plate. Sera decided to break the silence next.

"So, Daani and the rest of the team are meeting at her house after school tomorrow. I can go to that, right?"

Ula smiled at her. "Of course."

The meal continued in silence for a short time, with only the sound of clinking utensils breaking the monotony.

Jax looked at his mother. "Hey, Mom. Can I be excused now?"

Ula didn't even look up. "Sure. Just put your dishes away."

Jax carried his empty plate, cutlery, and cup into the kitchen. When he was done, he passed the dining room table and met Obarrel's eyes. The same eyes as hers, Obarrel noted. A brown so dark that they were nearly black. He gave her a nearly imperceptible nod, then disappeared down a connecting hallway.

Obarrel smiled, then returned to efficiently emptying her plate. Once she finished, she stood, pushing her chair back slowly. "I think I'm done here. Thank you for the meal." Looking at her daughter's opening mouth, she cut off what she knew was coming. "And yes, I will put away the dishes that I used."

Obarrel swiftly carried her dishes into the kitchen, her mismatched legs beating an alternating rhythm on the patterned stone flooring. When she was finished, she returned to the dining room.

She nodded everyone left at the table. "Thank you again for allowing me to eat here." Valek and the children turned to wave at her, their various goodbyes overlapping. Ula didn't look up, instead giving a short hand gesture that Obarrel knew Ula wouldn't have given if the kids weren't distracted.

Obarrel shook her head and turned to leave, then paused. "I'll see myself out, Valek." She made her way out of the dining room and back into the hallway near the door to the city outside. As she neared the door, she noticed one of the holos near the door. It was a simple holo-picture, just showing a gray-eyed man from the chest up holding a small girl of about six in his arms. She felt a familiar pang of sorrow. She should have been there for the picture.

"I can't change the past," she muttered bitterly. "If Ula wants to hold on to old grudges, so be it." She opened the door and walked through. It hissed closed behind her as she continued down the path towards her vehicle.

* * *

"Oh, come on."

A series of escalating tones sounded.

"No, no, no!"

The beeps were replaced with a single, low tone.

"Failed again! Gah…"

Jax was hunched over a tactical screen simulator, glaring at the red letters that panned across his screen. He rubbed his eyes. "Ok. Maybe the fourth time's the charm." The device that he was using let him replay decades-old battles that the Praumian defense fleet had fought against pirates and invaders. It was almost like a video game. If he beat all of them, his instructors would allow him to practice using scenarios from other systems.

Jax reset the scenario and started from the beginning. "Ok, so I have two Kaze-class light frigates and they have…" He continued to talk to himself, trying to tune out the sounds of his parents arguing in another room.

"Why did you invite her here?"

"I thought it might be a good time for the two of ya to talk."

"Right after she finishes a battle where she slaughtered people? Did you see what just came over the Holonet? She killed a Jedi, Valek!"

"Dear, I'm sure that she gave the misguided fellow a chance to surrender-"

"Misguided?! Are you serious? Do you want to go down this road again?"

"Not really, Dear."

Jax glanced at the clock, before sighing and pausing the program. "Right as I was starting to do well." He rubbed his hand across his face. "Looks like I'm putting Miira to bed tonight."

Jax stood, opening the door to his room. "What I wouldn't give for something to make Mom and Grandma get along." He shook his head as he headed toward Miira's room. "Not even the Force could do that."

* * *

 **AN: Here's the next Chapter of Sparks That Set The Future Alight, one of the many stories set in this new Saga.**

 **If you have any questions about this new Saga, please see my profile, or PM me if the Profile doesn't cover enough.**

 **If you wish to follow the entire Saga as it comes out, I have a community set up that the stories are a part of. Following the community may make it easier to follow the Saga as a whole.**

 **The Head Representative names and appearances are not based on any real-life persons. If anyone is curious as to what Jax looks like, I imagine him looking a bit like an older version of Hiro Hamada.**

 **Also, for those who are like, "Why is Count Dooku so chill and giving her time off? That's weird!" Military officers do technically get time off, but he also has another purpose. More slander against the Senate-bound Jedi. Also, remember that Dooku is a noble, the complete head of the Separatist State, more or less. I'll flesh that out in another story. Whatever he says goes, kind of. Again, I'll work out the kinks later.**

 **And there's no sinister meaning with the dark and light eye colors. I don't think that any color eye is inherently better or more enlightened. It's just playing into the somewhat cliché "You have the same eyes as …" thing. Perhaps I'm doing it too literally, but since Star Wars has always dealt with a lot of family themes, I figured I might as well do it literally in this case.**

 **Here's the Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that is officially part of Star Wars, Legends or Canon. I do not claim ownership of any of the property of Lucasfilm, Disney, or any published authors. I am not making any money from this story.


	4. Good News

Hello Everyone.

Thanks to the actions of Transformers g1's-Prime, the Saga Reborn will now be part of a colab effort between, at a minimum, the two of us.

Others are welcome to join in and help.

At this time, The Tragedy of Anakin will be moved over to Transformers g1's-Prime's account. Technically copied while the one on my profile is renamed, but that's not the point.

Hopefully more should be coming out soon!

Also this chapter is temporary for any story that will have new chapters coming.

\- StormEyeDragon


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